Invasion
by sword-of-dark
Summary: Can one being send an entire world to its knees? Can one entity really destroy what took millennia to create? Can one solitary creature be an Invasion?


Warcraft and all its expansion packs, characters, and associated rights belong solely to Blizzard Entertainment and not, alas, to my humble self. That said, I apologize to ShadowedLight if this bears any resemblance at all to Tears of the Legion, a fic which I have great respect for and was sorry to see fall into irregular updates (I say, studiously avoiding the phrase "neglected"). In any case, I do not own Tears of the Legion any more than I own the Frozen Throne expansion (but wouldn't it be cool if I did?) and therefore any similarity is both unintentional and purely coincidental. Now on with the show.  
  
***  
  
"Return the blade... complete the circle... release me from this prison!"  
  
A flash of white. The ring of steel on ice. The sound of a soul being displaced... and an unstoppable force being released from its cage.  
  
"Now we are one."  
  
The moaning of a million dead souls saluting their reborn lord. The clank of metal on frost again. The soul-searing pain of a leader preparing to scourge the world of the living.  
  
The voice of a proud human prince, lost amidst the mob...  
  
And elsewhere, subtle next to the awesome power of the new Lich King, something else stirs. For as the Throne shatters and allows Ner'Zhul out, it unwittingly allows something else in. Something vast, dark, and immeasurably evil. For the world of Azeroth has a door... and that door is now open.  
  
***  
  
Grelik was a scavenger. He, of course, preferred the term "entrepreneur" for what was in reality little more than picking up what others had abandoned. And so it was that the mischievous goblin came to be nosing around the village of Duskwood in northern Azeroth, roughly a hundred miles north of the human capital of Stormwind. The humans seemed all too aware of the uncomfortable proximity of their great city to the border with shattered Lorderon and the ever-expanding Undead.  
  
The tavern from which Grelik launched his often ill-fated raids on the scrap heaps of the surrounding country was delightfully known as the Keep, and in fact exhibited quite a resemblance to its stone-and mortar brethren. Of course, the Keep was (rather precariously) built almost entirely of rotting wood, and looked unable to contain a large drunken brawl, let alone defend against a siege.  
  
None of this really mattered to Grelik, so long as he could rent out a dingy basement room for tinkering with his lucky finds. The goblin now approached Duskwood, eyes peeled for anything of value. An entire garrison of Forsaken had been forced to clear out in haste the previous week, as Sylvanas pulled more and more troops north to fight the Lich King. With any luck, there would be something useful left.  
  
Grelik was also a practical creature, and behind those beady, scheming eyes resided the knowledge that every living thing on the continents of Azeroth and Lorderon was going to die under the monstrous sword of the King of the Dead. Sylvanas would be crushed within a year. The humans might optimistically last half that long. Even courageous goblins prefer not to die, and this was even more true for Grelik. He planned to loot the area of anything mechanical with even the tiniest iota of value, and then take a zeppelin to Kalimdor, where many of his cousins had already set up shop.  
  
These avaricious thoughts were swept from Grelik's mind by a blast of air that knocked him squarely on his posterior. It was well enough the goblin didn't try to get up immediately, for he simply would have been decapitated by the awesome stampede of forest creatures that almost crushed him underfoot.  
  
There was suddenly a wave of searing heat that flew outwards as if from a divine hand. Grelik could now roughly make out the epicenter of the unnatural weather, but ran squarely into a conflict of interest. Exactly one-half of his personality demanded that he investigate. After all, it could be a fell artifact of immense value, or maybe even some sort of demonic engine out of myth.  
  
His other half absolutely insisted that he run. Now. Five minutes ago, in fact. He had heard enough tales in his youth to know that this was the part where the hero drew his sword and charged towards a grisly death. Goblin children's tales, like all such stories, were meant to teach morals, and what better moral to teach young goblins than that of NOT dying a hero's death?  
  
Or any death at all, Grelik reflected. He decided he would just investigate a little. After all, what could possibly happen when he was absolutely resolved to flee at the first sign of trouble?  
  
Grelik crept slowly towards the clearing he knew must be up ahead. After all, who ever heard of a demonic artifact without at least fifty yards of open space around it? It was just not done. He broke through the last stand of trees and into an open patch of grass... and sighed in resignation. There was nothing here. The goblin let his shoulders slump and released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Grelik, resigned to another day of menial scavenging, turned to go.  
  
And stopped. There was something... odd about the air. What could only be described as a fracture in the air itself seemed to split the clearing in two. As Grelik looked on, the fracture appeared to widen and grow. He started backing away, never taking his eyes off this strange phenomenon. As yet, he was more curious than frightened. Later, reflecting upon these events, Grelik would realize that his lack of fear at something so much like a demonic portal should have been the last in a series of reasons to run and never look back.  
  
For the present, the hapless goblin merely watched as an unearthly red light spilled out onto the grass. Still not abjectly terrified, Grelik noticed that the light was the color of fresh blood. At the same time he perceived a low howl staring to issue from the rift. Grelik decided that this was definitely the time to leave. Calmly, of course.  
  
As he slowly pivoted to make a controlled exit, he was abruptly dazed by a massive burst of light the color of rust. Just before he sunk into merciful unconsciousness, Grelik thought he saw something come through the portal. It looked rather like a foot. A human foot.  
  
Then he knew no more.  
  
***  
  
It was old when the sky was young. It had laughed as the feeble Burning Legion bumbled its way across the Nether. And now it laughed again. This was not mirthful laughter. It was the maniacal chuckle of a god... a god totally bereft of sanity, compassion, or mercy.  
  
A new chapter was beginning in the story of Azeroth. A new season in a calendar independent of the sun or moon.  
  
It would be a season of death. 


End file.
